


The Actions of a Few Men

by BekkaPramheda



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:03:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BekkaPramheda/pseuds/BekkaPramheda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly makes a promise to Courfeyrac which both of them know he has no plans to keep. Courfeyrac decides to force him to respect it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Actions of a Few Men

November, 1828.

“...The irresponsible actions of these few men resulted in the police ransacking and burning of four houses and parts of other residential buildings, leaving several hundred factory workers, some of whom have families, homeless. Resentment is running high in the industrial districts. We must act swiftly to counter these effects. Such a large proportion of the Parisian working class cannot be allowed to be deceived that men of a revolutionary conviction will bring suffering to them when the reverse is, in fact, true. Though I can do but little while the area is still watched, I will do my best to spread the word that the city's true revolutionaries have a sense of decency and respect for those they claim to represent, and that those who would run and let the weight of the law fall upon those who have not stepped outside of it rather than to take the burden themselves are not worthy of the label.”

As Feuilly finished his speech, Enjolras looked up from Combeferre's notes, which he'd been reading over his friend's shoulder, and clapped enthusiastically.

“Misrepresentation by those who seek to use revolutionary ideals to excuse violence and recklessness is a new problem for the Society, and you, Citizen, have summarized it eloquently and powerfully. Never fear, I shall write a pamphlet discrediting them – the risk to me is much less than if you were to take on the same task. I must request, though, that you allow me to use a few of your phrases – I really doubt I could word it as well as you, who was made literate through narratives of freedom, of nation, of the simple and pure force of the people -”

Combeferre cleared his throat and caught the eye of the enthusiastic orator, who broke off rapidly:

“ - er, it was a well-made speech and I would beg your permission to quote parts of it.”

Feuilly smiled and nodded.

“Of course, my friend! I could not object to such noble use of my words, and I assure you – they are really not so elegant as you seem to think.”

“You do not give yourself adequate credit! Still, I'll have a draft tomorrow, you can read it at that time and inform me of any objections you may have.”

“I highly doubt there will be any – there never are. Thank you, though. Goodnight, Citizen!”

Combeferre took Enjolras' arm and led him toward the door, whispering in his ear. The others got up and followed them out. As Feuilly picked up his bag, he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. Courfeyrac stood there, looking concerned. Feuilly began to ask him what was wrong, but Courfeyrac interrupted,

“Your room was in one of the buildings that was burnt.”

Faintly surprised – he'd never become fully accustomed to Courfeyrac's empathetic tendencies – Feuilly simply responded,

“Yes.”

“You have no new lodging.”

“Yes. I would have to pay the first month's rent immediately to any sane landlord, and it will take me a few weeks to earn enough to do that. I had just paid for my old room, and I can hardly ask for it back.”

“Come and stay with me. Until you have enough to get a room of your own. I have a spare mattress, it's really no trouble.”

“I appreciate the offer, but you know I cannot accept.”

“For God's sake, Feuilly, it's not an offer I make out of charity. You are a friend. And to be totally honest, I think you're the only friend I've ever had who hasn't spent at least one night with me for one reason or another.”

Feuilly raised one eyebrow.

“Even Enjolras? He doesn't seem the type for companionable room-sharing.”

“He lives only a block away from me. He stays over whenever both his and Combeferre's beds are populated so heavily with books as to leave no space for their intended inhabitants.”

They both laughed.

“Still, Courfeyrac, I will be fine. I have done it before. Your generosity is unnecessary. “

“Oh, but I enjoy it!,” Courfeyrac whined.

Feuilly didn't respond. After a moment of silence, Courfeyrac acquiesced.

“Promise me you'll eat.”

“I promise.”

“And if you don't have lodging by next Sunday, you're living with me until you find something. I insist.”

Feuilly smiled.

“All right. I'll see you tomorrow, Citizen.”

“Same to you.”

 

Feuilly found a quiet sidestreet behind a large house, and settled into the corner formed by the house's wall and its chimney. Though it was very cold outside and the light rain was beginning to freeze, the heat of the chimney would be enough to keep him warm overnight. He took off his coat, drew his knees up to his chest, and spread the coat over them.

He remembered his promise to Courfeyrac, and checked the pocket of his waistcoat. Six sous. Enough to just about buy dinner, but he was in need of a new paintbrush and the allowance that the factory gave him wasn't nearly enough to pay for his supplies. _In the morning I'll buy a roll. I rarely eat breakfast. That'll be enough._

Just as he was beginning to fall asleep, he heard a noise. Someone was shuffling through the leaves. He shrank back into the shadows. The amount of noise meant that the person wasn't making an effort not to be noticed – but if nobody knew he was here, why would they?

He sat in terror for a few minutes, hardly daring to breathe, before the figure – a tall man carrying a large basket – passed him. When he reached the end of the road, he turned around and headed back, looking to either side as he walked, almost as though he were looking for somebody. The man's eyes fixed on Feuilly just as Feuilly recognized his hat (the purple and green ribbon was exceptionally distinctive.)

“Courfeyrac?”

“Citizen Feuilly! I thought I'd find you somewhere in this vicinity. You haven't eaten, have you?”

“No, I...”

“Thought not. Well, dear friend, you're in luck. I have an essay due tomorrow, and my wish not to write it was a perfect opportunity to - “ (he grunted with effort as he tried to unbuckle the basket) - “indulge my culinary inclinations!”

He handed a loaf of fresh bread to Feuilly, who tore into it eagerly, pulled a bottle of wine and two tin cups out of the basket, and then lifted out a few parcels wrapped in what Feuilly recognized as leftover copies of a pamphlet of Combeferre's from a few weeks ago.

“What's that?”

“Kotlet schabowy.” Courfeyrac grinned.

“What?”

“Kotlet schabowy! Polish breaded pork. Finding the spices was a bit tricky, but it's excellent. Well worth the effort.”

“Wait. How did you find out about it?”

“...The library. Where else?”

“Why were you looking at Polish recipes in the library?”

“You were hardly going to get dinner for yourself?”

“I was!”

Courfeyrac smiled fondly at his friend.

“You are a very skilled, intelligent, and tenacious man, Feuilly – but you're a terrible liar.”

 


End file.
